


JAOA: Stage Three

by BlackRose (darthneko)



Series: JAOA [16]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-09
Updated: 2001-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthneko/pseuds/BlackRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first day is always the hardest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	JAOA: Stage Three

**JAOA: Stage Three  
Year of the Republic 25,002**

* * *

Voices in the outer room woke him from a sound slumber. Han groaned, pulling his pillow over his head in an effort to block them out. The light from the window penetrated his eyes, making him wince... and then jerk awake, aware that there was a window for light to come through, and that the room was not his own.

No... the room was his own. His new room. Han rubbed a hand over his face and then over his hair, wincing as he felt the short cropped strands of his brand new haircut, and the tickle of his padawan braid against his throat. This was his. His room, his hair, his life...

...His Master's voice in the outer room, talking to someone. With the morning light streaming in the window and he, Han Solo, Padawan, late to wake up.

He scrambled up, grabbing for his robe. Habit ran his hands through his hair in a vain attempt to make it look neat, more habit making him hesitate by the door, ear pressed to it, trying to make out the voices beyond. They were muffled, impossible to catch the individual words. Han bit his lip, considering the choices possible, and settled for taking the time to quickly slip on trousers and soft indoor shoes before he palmed open his door and stepped out into the main room.

He had expected to face Anakin and an unknown visitor. Presented with an empty room, Han frowned, pausing. The voices were louder and after a moment he recognized them as coming from the open door of the Jedi Knight's sleeping chamber. Worrying at his lip again, he stepped forward, hesitantly peering around the frame of the door.

"...I've explained the situation to the Council," Anakin was saying, his voice weary. The Jedi Knight was dressed, back turned to the door as he spoke to someone out of Han's line of view. "Allowances have been made, but we really shouldn't keep putting it off. It's not going to help them any..."

A shiver of sensation skittered across Han's spine. Anakin turned at the same moment, his gaze falling on the boy. A small smile curved his lips as he called out, with more energy than before, "So you're up, Padawan. Come here. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Flushing to the roots of his hair, Han tugged at the folds of his robe and reluctantly stepped into the room. Anakin gestured him forward; as he came abreast of his Master's side Han could see the second party of the conversation.

The communicator was a small one, set into the surface of the Jedi Knight's work table. The image it projected rose a meter above the table, pale blue and shot through with the unavoidable static of long range transmissions. The woman in the image, however, was nothing if not perfect - from the stately upswept curves of her dark hair to the long, flowing lines of her layered gown, she was the picture of a tiny, beautiful doll. She stood with an assured poise, dignified and regal, her dark eyes peering cooly from beneath arching brows.

Heedless of his Padawan's slightly gape mouthed stare and furious blush, Anakin pulled Han in front of himself, where the communicator could pick the boy up. "Love, I'd like you to meet Han Solo, my Padawan. Han, this is my wife, Amidala."

Han could feel his guts freezing beneath that cool stare. Anakin's wife, he remembered dimly, was some sort of planetary nobility - an empress or queen or some such. She looked every inch of it. Her eyes swept over him, weighing, and Han cringed at the look, all too aware of his unwashed and half dressed appearance.

To his surprise, a small smile curved her lips. It peeled the porcelain mask from her features, revealing a human warmth in the expression as she turned her gaze towards her husband. "Ani," she said, and her voice had a low, husky tinge to it, flavored with a gentle accent. There was soft laughter in that voice, at odds with her appearance. "There's a reason I try not to let you cut your own hair. Let Obi-Wan clean the boy up. You're embarrassing him."

Her gaze turned back to Han and she nodded her head gracefully. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Padawan Solo. Anakin has been telling me about you." Again, the smile, and there was something subtly impish about it. "I entrust that you'll try to keep my husband out of trouble."

Amidala's smile called forth an echo of Han's own, embarrassment loosening it's hold on him. "I'll try, your Highness," he told her, hoping he had picked the right form of address.

She laughed, a warm sound. "I think you'll do fine," she told him pleasantly. "I'll look forward to meeting you in person." Her look turned back to her husband, her tone subtly chiding. "Anakin, let the boy finish waking up. There wasn't any need to pull him out of bed. It's terribly early there, isn't it?" Her eyes flashed to Han, who understood that she was, politely, excusing both his appearance and any lack in his manners. He bobbed a quick bow to her in gratitude, stepping out of the range of the communicator as soon as Anakin let him.

Anakin escorted him to the door, a wry smile on the Knight's lips. "There's tea and food on the table," he instructed quietly. "Get dressed and help yourself. I'll be out when we're done." His hand pressed Han's shoulder briefly, and then the door hissed shut, dampening the sound of resumed voices to a low hum.

Han found himself standing at a loss in the main room. Used to having his entire day scheduled from hour to hour, he wasn't sure how to manage time when everything seemed to be at the beck and whim of his Master. Hunger won out over the desire for a shower or clothes, but to be on the safe side he took a quickly assembled plate into his room and ate while dressing.

Trousers and tunic and boots, pulled on at the breakneck haphazard rate he usually managed in the mornings before classes. A mental note to himself as he slid into the gray initiate tunic that he would have to see about getting new clothes - Padawans wore the same cream and tans that Knights did. Another mental note, as he finished gulping down food, that either he was going to need to take up cooking, or get his meals from the main dining hall - Anakin brewed the spice tea so strong it burned his throat, while the rest of the food was beyond bland.

A glance in the mirror made him groan - small wonder the Knight's wife had looked askance. The short crop of his hair was flattened on one side and stuck out at angles on the other, testimony to how he had slept. Combing it accomplished nothing, so at last he resorted to splashing water across it until the dark strands slicked back against his head.

A last glance in the mirror convinced him he was about as presentable as anything short of new clothes and a different haircut would allow. Sighing, Han went back to the main room, feeling rather as though the tiring contents of an entire day had already been packing into the short space of one morning.

Anakin had completed his transmission and was in the main room, a distant frown creasing his brow as he stood at the table with cup in hand, downing tea like a man dying of thirst. He looked up when Han entered, the frown smoothing away only to be replaced by another look which the boy couldn't begin to interpret. Seeing the dishes in Han's hands, he lifted the pot of tea. "Would you like any more?"

Han managed to keep from shuddering. "No, thank you."

Anakin nodded, upending the last of the pot into his cup and tossing it back the way some people did alcohol. Collecting the dishes, he rinsed them quickly, setting them aside. All the while Han could feel the knight's eyes on him, watching him. It made him nervous, shifting from foot to foot in the middle of the room.

Only when Anakin's smile returned did his nerves unwind slightly. "Well," the Knight said, cocking his head slightly. "I can see I'm going to have to be careful. That smile of yours charms the women. Amidala was quite taken with you."

Han pulled his shoulder back, startled. "Me, sir?"

The smile became a grin, one that warmed Anakin's eyes. "I'm only teasing, Padawan. Though Amidiala did give you her approval."

Flustered, Han shrugged slightly. "She seemed nice," he blurted, then winced. The woman was his Master's wife - he should be able to find something better than 'nice' to compliment her with.

Anakin only chuckled, the last of the lingering frown easing from his expression. "She was on her way to a Council meeting," he assured the boy. "When you meet her out of her formal dress she's not quiet so intimidating. You'll see."

Han nodded, uncomfortable. "How did you meet?" he asked, curiosity tugging at him. "I mean... Knights don't usually marry royalty. No offense," he added hastily.

It was the Knight's turn to look startled, pale brows rising. "You really don't listen to the gossip, do you?" he asked. The smile had a reminiscent quality to it, his blue eyes half lidded. "It was the first mission I ever took part in. I wasn't even a Padawan yet, I was only traveling with Master Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon. Amidala had just been elected Queen of Naboo."

Recalling other bits of history gleaned about his Master, Han frowned, squinting incredulously at the man. "You were _nine_ when you met her?"

Anakin laughed outright, gripping Han's shoulder briefly. "Yes. And Amidala was fourteen. Don't look so scandalized! We were married three years ago."

"Oh," Han said, trying to school his expression into something neutral, or at least intelligent looking. He wondered, vaguely, when the barrage of new things and information would become 'normal'. It was far, far too early in the morning for his mind to be already set on re-enacting the spin it had existed in the day before. Glancing around at a loss, he shrugged slightly. "What now, Master?"

Anakin straightened, running a hand through the short strands of his hair, the mercurial smile falling away. "Now... Now, young Padawan, I have someone I need to speak to. And you.." He gazed at Han, eyes narrowing slightly, and to Han's gaze it looked as though the Knight were at something of a loss. "You don't have classes to go to, do you?"

"Not any more," Han replied blandly, squelching the urge to grin. It was ridiculously reassuring to know that Anakin had no more idea of what to do than he did.

The frown had returned, sneaking across the Knight's brow in tight, worried little lines. He closed his eyes, the frown deepening slightly, and Han bit the inside of his lip, frowning also as he watched the man.

Anakin opened his eyes, gaze turning back to his Padawan. The look in the blue eyes was clouded, but the frown had eased somewhat. "You're invited," he said cryptically, a statement which made no sense to Han. "Come along."

Sighing inaudibly, Han fell into step behind his Master, following the Knight out into the corridor. The Knight walked with a ground covering stride that the boy had to stretch his own legs to match.

They passed other Jedi, Knights, the occasional Master with Padawan in tow, and to Han's eye none of the other Padawan's looked nearly as lost as he was certain he did. He hurried his steps, shadowing Anakin's heels as the man strode through the corridors of identical quarters.

At one point Anakin slowed, half turning towards Han, another of the puzzling frowns marking his brow. "You can receive, can't you?" he asked.

"Receive, sir?" Han frowned himself, perplexed. "I don't know what you mean."

"Through the Force," Anakin clarified, gesturing from himself to Han, and back again. "Mind to mind." He tapped a finger against his head to explain his meaning.

Startled all over again, Han stared at his Master. "You can _do_ that?"

Anakin stopped dead in the hallway, staring at the boy. "They don't teach you that," he stated, then sighed as Han nodded confirmation. Tilting his head back, the Knight addressed the ceiling overhead. "I'm beginning to think I didn't miss much by not being an initiate."

Han started to open his mouth to find something to reply, but a shivering sensation in the back of his skull stopped him. [Can you hear me?] Anakin's voice asked, but it echoed through Han's head as though from a distance, small and odd. Han reached up to press against his ears, shaking his head. "What the...?"

"I'll take that to mean yes," Anakin said wryly, and there was nothing at all wrong with his voice. "Good. It's a simple enough skill. With a little practice you shouldn't have any trouble with it."

"That was you," Han said dubiously, running a hand over his head which still seemed to vibrate inside somewhere that he couldn't reach. "In my mind?"

Anakin seemed pleased. "Exactly." He frowned slightly, reaching out to brush dry fingertips over Han's temples. "It shouldn't hurt."

"It doesn't," Han assured him, pulling back. "Just... feels weird."

"It's a skill, like any other," Anakin said. He put a hand against Han's back, resuming walking as he pushed the boy gently ahead. "We'll make that one of your first lesson priorities."

"Why?" Han blurted out. "Why is it so important?"

"It makes training easier," Anakin replied. "And you'll be needing it shortly." A few doors farther down he stopped, a hand on Han's shoulder halting the boy. "We're here."

'Here' was a door like any other in the portion of the Temple devoted to living quarters for the Knights and Masters. Han tugged at his tunic and made one last sweep at his damp hair as Anakin palmed the door signal. Seeing the gesture, Anakin reached out to brush his shoulder briefly. "It will be alright..."

The Knight broke off, head jerking around towards the door. Dropping his hand, he squared his shoulders, reaching out to trigger the controls. Han fidgeted as the door hissed open, hanging back as Anakin entered the quarters. "Master?" the Knight called, striding forward and leaving Han with no choice but to follow.

Han glanced around the quarters briefly. The layout, the structure of the room, was identical to Anakin's own but the resemblance stopped there. Where the Knight's quarters were sparsely bare these had a lived in look, furnished comfortably and with a personal touch that avoided being cluttered. Brightly lit, lived in... it was like stepping into someone else's home and made Han twice as uncomfortable for it. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Anakin who's quarters they were, when the significance of the Knight's choice of words registered. He suppressed a soft groan. Master - Anakin's own Master, General Kenobi.

Queens and Generals... could his morning, he wondered, become any more surreal?

Anakin had gone to the door of the main sleeping chamber, rapping on it lightly. Han uneasily edged his way back towards the main door and out of the way. He had never had classes with General Kenobi, but by all report the man was a demanding but fair teacher. Han had heard the stories of the man's career in the Wars, the same as every initiate had - despite what he had told Anakin, he didn't always ignore gossip. He hadn't ever wanted to meet the man, though - especially not early in the morning, with the wet spikes of his hair beginning to bristle around his head and feeling unwashed and incredibly conspicuous.

The door to the sleeping chamber opened and a man who could only be the General stepped out. Dressed as any Master might be and standing perhaps a hair shorter than Anakin himself, he wasn't preposing looking - until Han saw his face. Grey of eye and hair, the lines carved deep around mouth and forehead lent a hard, tight look to his face, one that eased only slightly as his gaze fell on his former Padawan.

"Anakin," Kenobi said softly. "What is it?"

"Never mind that," Anakin protested, shaking his head. He gestured past Kenobi to the darkened sleeping chamber. "How...?" But Kenobi hushed him, taking his arm and drawing him away from the door.

It was as they turned that the General's eyes fell on Han, standing as small as he could beside the main door. He frowned for a moment and Han clenched his teeth, standing firm against the Master's gaze, chin jerking up and shoulders painfully straight. Anakin intervened, stepping forward to beckon Han closer. "Ah... Master Obi-Wan; my Padawan, Han Solo."

The General straightened, shooting a quick look to Anakin. Han felt his heart sink - it was the same look the Council had fixed them with the day before, as they told Anakin that Han wasn't worth training. Pride stubbornly stiffened his spine and after a moment Kenobi turned back to him, cold eyes sweeping over him.

Disapproving look or no, his tone was nothing but proper and polite. "Padawan Solo."

Han swallowed dryly. Anakin's hand slipped out, cupping his elbow unobtrusively, the pressure of the Knight's fingers reassuring him. "Master Kenobi," Han managed in return.

Kenobi hesitated slightly, then nodded, turning back to Anakin. Han knew a dismissal when he saw one, but the relief of not being under those eyes any more was worth it. Kenobi was talking to Anakin, jerking his chin roughly back towards the sleeping chamber. "He's laying down. He was there yesterday and he'll stay there today if I have to tie him to the couch. Now what's wrong?"

"It can wait," Anakin demurred, but a glance passed between the two men. Kenobi tightened his lips.

"Padawan," he growled softly. Han jerked, but Kenobi wasn't looking at him and it was Anakin who flushed and ducked his head, shrugging slightly.

Another shared glance and Han shifted, realizing belatedly that there was a great deal more being said then he was party to. After a moment Kenobi shook his head, glancing back towards the sleeping chamber with a frown. "The boy can stay," he said abruptly, and Han felt Anakin's hand clench for a second against his elbow. Kenobi glanced back at them, still frowning. "Someone has to. The fool will try to get up if he's not watched." The words were harsh but the Master's tone was so flat as to betray nothing of what he actually felt.

"Han?" Anakin inquired. Han blinked, wondering what he was being asked and what he was supposed to answer.

"Master?"

"Would you mind staying here while Master Obi-Wan and I speak?" Anakin asked. "I'll introduce you to Master Qui-Gon. We won't be long."

"Don't let him talk and don't let him get up, Padawan," Kenobi added sharply. "That's very important, do you understand?"

Han blinked. "Who?" he asked helplessly.

Anakin tugged on his arm, drawing him towards the sleeping chamber. "Master Qui-Gon Jinn," he explained softly, pushing Han towards the door. He raised his voice slightly as they entered the softly lit room. "Master Qui-Gon? It's Anakin." Stiffly, Han let himself be pushed into the room, coming to a stubborn halt a few steps from the door.

The man who lay on the sleeping couch, half propped against a pile of pillows, was, to Han's halfgrown eye, simply huge. Broad shouldered, his long frame, had he been standing, would easily have topped Anakin's not unimpressive height. Older than either of the other men, with silvered hair and beard, his name and face triggered a connection in Han's memory. "You were on the Council," he blurted out before he could think better of it.

He thought, for sure, in his next panicked heartbeat that he had quite thoroughly ruined everything. "Be _quiet_!" Kenobi barked from behind them, making the boy jump and nearly try to swallow his errant tongue, but Anakin's hands closed warmly on his shoulders. To his surprise, when Kenobi stalked into his range of view it was not Han that the General was pointing to, but the reclining Master.

The older man didn't seem at all surprised by the order, though his silver brows drew down, a grimace marring the expressive line of his mouth. [I haven't said anything, Obi-Wan.] The words echoed vibrations through Han's head, a warm deep voice that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. Han winced and tried not to reach for his head, where the words seemed to set up itches inside his skull.

Piercing blue eyes, sharp within the lined face, settled on him. "There, you see?" Jinn said, his voice a hoarse, rasping whisper that broke the silence. "I didn't mean to startle you, boy." But the last word dissolved into coughing, a wet heavy sound drawn from deep in the Jedi Master's lungs. The older man closed his eyes briefly, lips tightening as he stifled the cough, hand going to his chest.

Han found himself abruptly abandoned as Anakin stepped around him, Kenobi already past them both and reaching for Jinn's shoulder. Hands placed to the larger man's back and chest, the General's tightened expression betrayed him in the lines of mouth and eyes - unadulterated worry and the stamp of long pain. The older master's cough eased after a few moments, letting him draw a shaky breath. [Don't,] the deeply echoed words came again. [I'm all right.]

"If you don't talk, don't sit up and don't move, you're all right," Kenobi corrected tightly. For all the nearly cold fierceness of his tone there was a bright light of concern in his eyes and a gentleness in his touch as he pushed the other Master back to the couch. The glare, Han thought on impulse, was part of an act - a cover thrown across the man's real feelings.

[I'll be alright,] the voice repeated firmly. Han winced, surreptitiously running a hand across the back of his neck and pressing at the echos that bounced at the base of his skull. Sharp blue eyes glanced up, not at all dimmed by the illness that marked the lines of the face. [Will no one introduce the boy?]

"I'm sorry, Master Qui-Gon," Anakin said hastily, turning back to put a hand on Han's shoulder and urge him forward. "I'd like to present my Padawan, Han Solo."

If one more person regarded him as though he were an item at the market Han thought he might, justifiably, begin to twitch. The results of this stare, however, were warmer than Kenobi's - Master Jinn smiled, holding out a hand to both Anakin and Han, beckoning them to come closer.

Anakin took the proffered hand, twining their fingers together with long familiarity. Jinn allowed it, but his attention was focused on Han, who stopped just beyond arm's reach and returned the stare frankly. The Master, he decided, was more sick then he was old. He was still the oldest person in the room, but it wasn't age that put the shadows beneath his eyes or the grey tinge to his lips. Even from a distance he could hear the rasp of the other man's breath, a sound that seemed to contantly border on coughing.

"They're right," he blurted out abruptly. "You shouldn't talk."

Three sets of adult eyes stared at him. Kenobi broke the silence with a sharp burst of laughter. "Good," he said, a smile erasing much of the fierceness of his expression. "Remind him of that, Padawan. Qui-Gon, listen to the boy. He has more common sense than you do. Anakin?" Brisk and efficient, in everything the man did. Anakin nodded, slipping his hand from Jinn's and following Obi-Wan into the next room. Han watched them go, only turning back to the Master on the couch after the door hissed shut.

Jinn was frowning, brows drawn down darkly over his eyes. Han gulped, but the Master was looking not at him but at the closed door. Seeing his expression, the Master shook his head, waving towards the worktable and accompanying chair. [Bring a chair over, Padawan. I don't bite.]

It was impossible not to jump slightly at that voice that come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Trying to hide it, Han went to get a chair, brining it back and seating himself in it gingerly. Jinn was still frowning and Han, worrying at his lip, finally ventured to say "Anakin... Master Anakin said he had something he wanted to tell General Kenobi."

Master Jinn's frown faded and he smiled slightly, reassuring the boy. [Of course. And Obi-Wan set you to hover over me while they talk.] There were nuances of emotion in the mental voice that were deeper than spoken words, a frustration that had nothing to do with Han and a genuine amusement at their combined situation. [When did Anakin choose you?]

Han blew out a breath, raking a hand through his hair and wincing at the feel of it. "Yesterday," he admitted. Jinn chuckled softly, a sound eerily both mental and physical. Han grinned slightly, relaxing some. "It doesn't seem real yet."

[It takes getting used to,] Jinn agreed. Settling back against the pillows, he closed his eyes. [Tell me about it,] he urged. [Last I knew, Anakin was still insisting it was impossible to choose an apprentice.]

Brought up short, Han winced. "It's... I mean, there's nothing to tell, really," he said quickly. "I don't know why. He said he saw potential in me." The words still felt like the basest of lies on his tongue, but it was the only answer he could think to give.

Jinn didn't look up, but Han could almost feel the Master's gaze on him all the same. [You're late to be chosen,] Jinn commented, then continued before Han could stammer a reply. [Obi-Wan was two weeks to his thirteenth birthday before I chose him.]

Han blinked. "That's close to cutting," he said hesitantly.

[Closer than you might think. He had already been assigned to AgriCorps. We met at his stationed post.] Jinn was watching him now, the blue eyes barely slit open, regarding him from beneath lowered lashes.

Han felt his mouth fall open but couldn't help the reaction. "General Kenobi was assigned to AgriCorp?" he gasped.

Jinn smiled gently and shook his head slightly. [I would have thought the story would have made the rounds with each new class.]

"Well, they don't tell that part of it," Han admitted. "He was really assigned to AgriCorps? Why?"

[Temper,] Jinn replied. [He was quite a handful as a child. As we are under orders that I am not to get up, could I trouble you for a cup of tea?] He gestured back to the worktable and the pot that rested there.

Han rose at once, going to the table and running his hands over the sides of the pot. "It's not very warm," he warned, filling one of the cups.

[That's fine,] Jinn assured him, turning slightly to reach for the cup as Han returned with it. Han, having seen the color of the tea and smelled it as he had poured, shook his head as he watched Jinn drink down half the cup.

"Now I know where Anakin gets it from," he said, dropping back into his seat.

Jinn glanced askance at him, then smiled, raising the cup in silent salute. [It _is_ stronger than they serve in the dining hall... you'll find it an invaluable ally over late night lessons, Padawan.]

Han refrained from saying that he would rather put his tongue against the blade of a lightsaber - it would have much the same effect. Instead, he surveyed the other man critically, noting the faint tremble in the large hands as they raised the glass. "Do the healers say you're getting better?" he asked bluntly.

Jinn glanced at him, a smile playing over his lips. [I can see why Anakin liked you. You're very outspoken. And no, Han, I am not getting better. Age isn't something the healers can cure.]

"I'm not talking about your age," Han corrected. "I'm talking about the sound in your lungs. Can't they do something about that?"

[Lung,] Jinn corrected, finishing the tea. [Singular. They've done as much as they can.]

"Oh." Han knew very well that his speech tended to leap out before he thought about it and was considered brash if not outright ill mannered - he hoped he hadn't offended the Master. "Were you injured during the Wars?"

[Before the Wars.] Jinn didn't seem inclined to say more and Han, though he sometimes didn't seem it, did occasionally know when not to press. [Tell me about yourself, Han Solo. What classes do you enjoy?]

Han managed to bite his tongue before blurting out that he didn't; making a bad impression on the elderly Master was the last thing he needed. "Lightsaber," he said instead, grabbing for the first class which had not bored him to numbness. "I really enjoyed putting it together. And piloting." Now that, at least, was something he could claim honest pride in. "I'm a good pilot."

Master Jinn nodded thoughtfully. [Obi-Wan was a fair pilot at your age. And Anakin... Anakin was a marvel. He raced pods.]

"Human's don't podrace," Han protested before he could reign the words back.

It earned him a smile. [No, they don't. But Anakin did. I saw him win the Boonta Race on Tatooine.]

Han shook his head stubbornly. "General Kenobi let his Padawan enter a podrace?"

[They hadn't even met yet.] By the glint in those blue eyes, Jinn was enjoying the leaps Han was having to make. [Anakin was nine. He had lived his entire life on Tatooine, and already entered in several races.]

Han blew out an inaudible sigh, raking another hand over his aching head. "Oh," he said, and then left it at that.

A large hand reached out, knuckles brushing his knee lightly. Han looked up, meeting the Master's understanding gaze. [It does seem like something of a legacy to live up to, doesn't it? A member of the Council, a General, the youngest and most unusual Padawan ever accepted...]

Han couldn't supress a laugh, though the sound held little humor. "And me. This has got to be a joke. It really does."

[Why?] Jinn asked simply. [Anakin is rarely wrong. If he saw potential in you, Padawan, then it is there.]

Han bit his tongue furiously but the words would not be stilled from spilling forth. "No, it isn't. Anakin found me in a bar playing sabacc. _Cheating_ at sabacc. I don't have potential, I'm not whatever he thinks I am." It was insanity, but it also, he decided breathlessly, felt terribly good to simply say the words. To admit the truth before this elderly Master, who surely held enough sway with the other two to force Anakin to denounce him.

Jinn remained silent for a few moments, considering. [Sabacc is a difficult game to cheat at,] he said at last, no disapproval touching his mental tone.

Han stared. When nothing else was offered for several more long moments he finally swallowed. "That's all you're going to say?" he asked, incredulous. "I mean... that's all?"

Jinn shrugged slightly. [It's true. I've had occasion to do it once or twice. To cheat effectively you need to not only hold your cards still against the randomizer, but make their faces the best hand while making sure that you do not hold a card that can be found in the hand of any of your opponents. It isn't easy.]

Han dropped his head into his hands. "I don't believe this," he muttered, the laugh rising in his throat. It burst forth slowly, a trickle at a time that he did his best to swallow down, chuckling.

[Oh, it's quite true,] Jinn assured him, amusement coloring his mental tone. [You've fallen in with a terrible lot. Obi-Wan is the only respectable one among us.]

The laugh burst forth in ernest, making Han gasp for breath. "More Qui-Gon's apprentice than Obi-Wan's, you are," he quoted between the laughter, shaking his head. "Master Yoda... Master Yoda said that to Master Anakin."

A soft chuckle escaped the Master. [Did he? I am... disappointed. But hardly surprised. I'm afraid it's true. Obi-Wan did try his best, it's no fault of his.]

Han got the laughter under control, wiping his flushed face. "You're not what I thought a Master would be," he admitted.

Jinn raised one silver brow. [We all must be what the Force guides us to. A Master is still an individual.]

The boy nodded slowly. "I thought I was going to be a pilot. Ship out as help on some cargo runner. Now... I don't know."

[Listen to what the Force tells you,] Jinn said, the mental voice subdued. [Listen, not with your mind, but with your heart. The living Force surrounds us, penetrates us. It _is_ us. We have only to open ourselves to listen to it.]

Han had heard the words a hundred times in lessons but they seemed to gather new meaning spoken within his mind in that deep, resonating voice. He found himself nodding reluctantly. "I'll try," he agreed. "I don't..." But no, the words died in his throat. It seemed wrong to continually point out the flaw in Skywalker's reasoning, when the man was trying to give Han a chance. "I'll try," he repeated, firmly.

Jinn nodded, the touch of his pleased emotion warming Han from the inside out. When the door hissed open Han nearly flinched, jarred by the sudden sound. Kenobi entered first, Anakin on his heels. The expression on the Master's face told Han that he firmly expected to find his orders disobeyed and was pleasantly startled to find Jinn where he had left him.

[Well?] Jinn's mental voice had a touch of impatient bite to it but Kenobi didn't immediately answer, crossing to sit on the edge of the couch and reaching to take the older Master's face between his hands. The General brushed a kiss across Jinn's forehead, a surprisingly tender gesture for the man, before sitting back. They exchanged a look and Han half heard the echo of a soft rushing sound, as though something had passed by distantly that he had not quite caught. Jinn's brows rose and he glanced at Anakin, but nothing was voiced.

Han glanced at his Master as well, half rising from his seat. Anakin nodded, beckoning him, and Han rose to join him. "Tomorrow, then?" Anakin said aloud, as though continuing a conversation that Han had not been partial to.

Kenobi nodded. "Of course." Jinn made a half articulate sound aloud and the General fixed him with another stern look. "You... I might allow you up tomorrow. If you rest today."

With a stubborn look, the older Master sunk back into the pillows of the couch. [I am resting. Good day, Anakin. Good day, Han.]

Anakin smiled, nodding. "Good day, Master Qui-Gon, Master Obi-Wan. Until later." Han hastily mumbled a farewell also, bowing and trailing after his Master. It was at the door that he paused, glancing back. Jinn's gaze caught his and Han swallowed. He didn't have the ability, he knew it, but he couldn't help thinking the words, hoping that his expression alone could convey them. /...thank you, master jinn.../

Jinn smiled, nodding slightly. Han returned the smile, then ducked out of the door, hurrying to catch up with Anakin, who was waiting for him by the main door of the suite. "Well?" the Knight inquired, looking amused.

Han thought over the responses he could give. Jinn was right, Skywalker did seem to like his brasher statements. Whatever he had talked to the General about had relaxed the Knight some, but the shadow of a frown still touched his brow. It had, Han was fairly certain, nothing to do with himself. Taking a chance, Han let himself grin slightly. "Yoda was right," he said. "You're Qui-Gon's apprentice, not Obi-Wan's." He jerked his head back towards the room they had come from. "Did you know he cheats at sabacc?"

Anakin stared for a moment before the grin swept across his expression, accompanied by a laugh. Han smiled as well, pleased. Skywalker laughing was a much better thing then Skywalker with the pensive frown. Gesturing him out the door, Anakin lead them down the corridor, still chuckling. "He told you that, did he?" the Knight asked. "Well, where do you think I learned it from?"

Han nodded. There were, he decided, quite a few worse situations to be in than Padawan to Knight Skywalker. "You'll have to teach me," he prompted, grinning.

Anakin shook his head, his hand reassuringly warm on Han's shoulder. "Oh no, Padawan. Not until you're much older. Right now..." He paused, considering. "Right now, there are several hours until mid-day. And I would like to see how much of the forms you know. Can you find your way back to our quarters?" At Han's hesitant nod, Anakin smiled. "Alright, then. Go get your lightsaber. Meet me down at the training halls."

Hours of collecting new bruises on top of old and having what was left of his hair singed. Han groaned, but went obediently to try to backtrack their steps to the Knight's quarters and collect his lightsaber. At least, if they were practicing, then Anakin couldn't very well find anyone else to introduce him to. And compared to lessons on the Code and history, it wasn't a bad way to spend a morning. No, there were definitely worse things then being Master Anakin's Padawan.

[...to next stage]


End file.
